Soul
by Angel's Anthem
Summary: An Elder's son, severely injured on his right of passage, must accept the binding truth that he would have bled to death if it hadn't been for that Ooman...


**PROLOGUE**

"Elder, I need to speak to you." The Young Blood neglected all formalities.

The older warrior, ornate with traditional armor, grunted with irritation. Perhaps it was the busy atmosphere, or the crowded bazaar in which he was trapped, or even the incessant, young warrior who wouldn't stop pestering him. Aching with a headache, the Elder decided that it didn't matter. He just wanted to be rid of this insanity.

"I believe this will interest you greatly," piped the youthful hunter. "Not like last time, or the time before that..." he trailed off- realizing his past errors, "This time, sir, you will- ...It is of great importance."

Growling, the Elder turned around to glare at him. "Get on with it. You are wasting my time."

Amidst the loud banter of his clan, the Elder hoped his words had been scrambled with someone else's words. Something that might have translated into, 'Leave me alone before I feed you to my damn Kainde Amedha.' Of course the eager warrior continued anyway and, to keep his honor intact, the Elder was obligated to listen anyway.

"It concerns your son."

The Elder cursed. The Young Blood was right. It was of great importance and it did gain his interest. He hadn't even noticed that he'd stopped in the middle of the bazaar. Hearing this made him want to enter a clearing; somewhere unoccupied. Quiet. He was able to weave a path through the crowd, with the Young Blood breathing down his neck of course.

"Which one?" The Elder clicked his mandibles, anticipating the name.

"Kenai."

"My youngest? He is on his Chiva." The Elder shook his head. He could deny the pang of worry that settled in his gut. So many things could go wrong on an unblooded warrior's first hunt.

"I am aware. His vitals are well. As are his Hunt Brothers'." The Elder nodded, but the look of annoyance returned, showing in the crease of his brow.

"They did not leave on a valid heat bloom." That was impossible. The Elders approved the locations of all heat blooms for Chivas.

"Explain," the Elder grunted.

"We did not initiate that heat signature- the one your son followed."

The Elder had only heard of this traitorous act. In other clans, of course, but he never expected it to happen within his own clan.

"Bad Bloods," the Elder snarled.

The Young Blood nodded.

"Ready my ship." With that, the Elder was off, his pace swift. He bumped into other warriors. He wanted no challenge with them, but time was of the essence. Haste was necessary. One second could mean life or death for the youngest of his sons.

**~O~**

The predator watched as the ooman fumbled through the darkness. The maze of catacombs were narrow and she could easily lose her way. But something compelled her to continue; to keep running. She was charging into the unknown, but what fueled her to persist?

She knew what hunted her.

She had seen the aliens mangle her companions; crush their bones to dust and melt their skin with acid. Maybe it was rage. Or, perhaps it was indeed fear that compelled her to hunt the hunters.

But this wasn't right. The predator trilled as he, too, weaved through the catacombs, following her heated footsteps. This was his hunt. She was after his kill! His prize! His honor! He would beat her to the punch. If necessary, he would kill her to get what he wanted. No ooman would get in between him and his trophy.

Suddenly, the ooman stopped. He mimicked her action.

Her chin tilted upward, similar to how Yautja sniff the air for musk. He was perturbed. Without his mask, his eyes would be ignorant of his surroundings; pitch black surroundings. How did she know where she was going? Did oomans rely on smell rather than sight? Was it instinct, or madness?

Wait. What was he thinking? The ooman was soft meat. Bait. Yes, he would use her as bait to get what he wanted. It was a sound strategy. He would use her to his advantage. Oomans' lifespans were short by Yautja standards anyway. Her death would serve as a just cause for him.

When he anticipated her movements, she did something that surprised him; something that he did not intend. The ooman's face, illuminated in florid heat, cautiously turned to look behind her shoulder. There was nothing. He knew this, yet it made him twitch with uneasiness. He glanced down at his wrist-analog.

He was still camouflaged.

He tried to reassure himself by accepting the logical fact that she couldn't possibly see him with her ooman eyes in the darkness. The thought slid to the back of his mind when she returned to her original pace through the winding crypt.

He could see the clearing. Another chamber, perhaps?

He scrambled through the vision settings. There was an unnatural light. Night vision was no longer required.

The unblooded warrior's gut tightened. The ooman had found what he hadn't before, but had obsessively searched for. Several Kainde Amedha, smothered in their own slime, hissed up at the ooman when she entered the hollow; their domain. That was the first time he had noticed she was carrying an unusual-looking blade; too large to be a dagger but smaller than a knife. She shuffled the blade between her hands. He assumed she was waiting for the Kainde Amedha to make the first move.

Wise, for an ooman.

Boiling with sudden anger, the Yautja unblood rumbled. His frustration getting the better of him. He was distracted by... her! An ooman!

Like a bad habit, his distraction tugged at his interest. The Kainde Amedha had both speed and strength to their advantage; not to mention their nasty features of acid-blood, salient claws and jagged teeth. He anticipated her movements. What could she possibly do that would overthrow the hard-meat? The unblooded warrior waited for either to strike. He might have triggered his plan if he wasn't so eager to witness her fate. Why he felt that she would actually survive was beyond his understanding.

The ooman twitched, flinging herself to the right. His eyes widened while he approached a little closer for a better view. It had been a diversion. The hissing alien was immediate in his actions, charging at the first sign of her movement; but she did not linger. Fleeing to the right was never her intended path. As soon as she caught wind of the beast, he watched her strange, alien feet pivot to the opposite side. She spun out of the Kainde Amedha's charge until her eyes pierced the the back of its skull. It had been fooled. Before the alien could counter her quick and effortless stride, her blade swung, slicing through the hard-meat's neck.

The Kiande Amedha's rabid hissing ceased. Its head splattered acid in all directions, dead.

He was speechless.

The ooman's fate had been delayed. She had killed the hard-meat without even breaking a sweat.

The ooman might have been cunning in this one instance, but she lacked grace- shuffling her feet to avoid the spitting acid and landing on her backside. He chirped with delight. Seeing the ooman falter was entertaining.

Regret tugged at the pit of his stomach. His untimely sounds were noticed by the two remaining xenomorphs. And the ooman. Upon fleeing, the Yautja was able to draw the remaining hard-meats away from the ooman. He trilled, irritation boiling over. Retreating beneath an arching doorway to another corridor, the young warrior waited in silence. He held his breath. It felt like an eternity, but the Kainde Amedha finally scurried past him.

He took a deep breath, scanning the vicinity for addition hostilities. Nothin-

The Young Warrior shrilled in pain as the tail of a Kainde Amedha ripped through his armored plating. He roared in anger when he watched the blood squirt from the wound. His leg burned. That was too close! Thank Paya his thigh was impaled and not his groin.

Revving his plasmic gun, the unblood prepared to fire it at a steep angle. The hard-meat was behind him. Sneaky bastard. The alien was growing restless, trying to lash out again. The predator was about to dodge the second blow, barely. He tumbled to the ground, rolling in his own blood. He was on all fours, desperately trying to stand, but he couldn't. He collapsed. The best he could do was limp, dragging his body in the opposite direction of the raging beast.

Suddenly, an object was hurled in his direction. Sparks flew, tickling his neck. He was stunned for a moment, instinctively reaching for his shoulder-mount. The mount had been severed, his gun flung several feet away from him. His eyes flickered from the darkened corridor, the one he'd left the ooman in, and the slimy, gargling insect meddling closer.

The creature screeched then sunk to a ground. Its acid-blood burned through the stone; its guts following in a gooey soup.

There was no explanation. Unless...

The Yautja cringed. He had forgotten his injured leg.

The young warrior reeked of blood. His body was slick with a fresh sheen of sweat. Green, bodily fluid leaked through the crevice of his armor. Wincing at the pain, he was almost inclined to laugh at his stupidity. He had been impaled by a Kainde Amedha's swatting tail! He cursed under his breath. He hadn't even made his first kill, and he was already injured; too injured to move on his own. His honor was hanging on a thin, shriveled line; put on hold until he could find a way out of this mess.

The warrior fought with every inch of his sanity, or what was left of it, to keep his prize in mind. The hunt. His honor. He had to finish his Chiva. He had to become a Young Blood; his status among his clan! Nothing else mattered.

Survival tugged at his chest.

Was his Chiva really worth dying for?

The Yautja grunted, frustrated. Surviving had to be his top priority. Honor would surely follow, if he could just... reach... his... damn... medical kit!

"C'jit!" he cursed.

The answer to his problems was out of reach by mere inches! Mocking him!

The Yautja flailed his dreadlocks. He shook his head, roaring like a spoiled pup. He eyed the kit once more. It returned his towering glare, refusing to move. Reaching for the supplies a second time, the young warrior stretched out to retrieve it, but to no avail did he come close to obtaining it. He could hear maniacal laughter inside his head.

The mild hissing of hard-meat startled him for a moment. He jerked away from the kit to peer through the misty fog. Behind him, the hollows ran deeper into the mountain. Even he didn't know what lurked those dank halls. His muscles tensed just thinking about it as he listened to their incessant shrills.

They weren't close enough to cause him immediate harm.

If he kept quiet, they wouldn't find him. They were lethal in a fight, but shamefully dumb without guidance. That is, unless, his luck had fully run its course. So far he had been undetected, even without his camouflage, after the little run in he had with that sneaky Kainde Amedha. He'd like to keep it that way if the gods would allow it. For now, at least.

His attention was torn from the hissing when another wave of burning pain pulsed through his thigh. His hands were blood-drenched. He hadn't even noticed himself gripping the wound. Snarling, the Yautja braced himself before jamming two of his fingers into the narrow wound. He almost released a thunderous roar, but he gritted his teeth and fought the urge.

He refused to bleed out. That was just insulting! Not to mention an embarrassment, not only to him but to his clan as well.

When the blood began to trickle instead of stream, and the pain was nothing more than an itching throb, he noticed that the distant, alien screeches had gone silent. How long had it been like this? How long had it been so quiet? He hadn't noticed the change in atmosphere. The pain was severe enough to dull his senses. Silence rippled through the air. He sniffed the air, growling.

He wasn't alone.

He could smell an exotic aroma; native to the planet. It wasn't sour like the hard-meat. He could only recall one other occasion in which he had smelt something so... enticing.

He scanned the catacombs. Nothing. He shook his head; something had to have silence those creatures- something skilled enough to either out might or out smart the Kainde Amedha. They don't just run off... Perhaps it had been the ooman. No, oomans were weak when cornered. If she was smart, she would have fled at the sight of him.

Suddenly, his body shook with promising relief. It could have been one of his Hunt Brothers! He clicked his mandibles in consideration, and his posture collapsed. It would be a complete humiliation if they saw him like this. He was certain that they wouldn't keep it to themselves either; if they survived long enough to leave this forsaken planet.

With his back to the vast empty of the hollow, the unblood listened to the eerie silence, caught off-guard when something breathed down his neck. He tried to jerk away, see what was stalking him, but a silver blade nipped the underside of his chin, clanking against his untainted mask. He moved his head, trying to catch a glimpse of his foe, but the blade cut deeper, halting his actions. Ah, yes. He recognized the sweet aroma. It was, in fact, an ooman scent.

How did she get so close without detection?!

The ooman had bested him. He boiled with anger, clenching his hands into tight fists. While shaking in his rage, the Yautja remained still. He twitched with curiosity though. The young warrior sat in silence; musing at the ooman. She had the upper-hand.

The blade stiffened, causing the young warrior swallowed away his anxiety. He waited for death. Being decapitated was a good death. Honorable. He would feel minimal pain. But nothing happened. The ooman did not move. She was staring at the back of his head like a pest. Mocking him!

The Yautja grew impatient while the ooman shuffled behind him, indecisively, uncertain. He could smell her hesitation. Oomans were painfully slow, and this annoyed him. He trilled, hoping that it might provoke some action from the ooman. His assumption was accurate.

The ooman's grip on the blade steadied, alert to the sounds he had made. The sharp edge remained hook beneath his chin, but the ooman began to move. He could hear her footsteps. Her metallic boots clanked against the ancient stone as she walked to his side. Slowly, the ooman revealed herself, coming into the young warrior's complete view.

Seized with utter shock, the predator narrowed his gaze. The ooman wore a mask. The unblood, unknowingly, trilled beneath the ooman's gaze, eyes piercing his already-injured body. He waited while she circled him like a prey. This set him off. He growled at the cocky ooman as she made a second round at him. Much to his dismay, all the young warrior could do was wait. The unease made him squirm. He was in no position to fight, and the ooman knew this.

The young hunter watched the ooman tilt her head. Was she confused? He snarled at the soft-meat. It didn't budge, stumble, cover in fear like most other oomans would have. The pain in his leg returned. He fidgeted with discomfort, removing his fingers to observe his wound. It was difficult to to look down because of the blade. He was unable to see the extent of the damage, but he could feel the streaming of hot liquid. Clicking his mandibles, the predator glared at the blade, then at the ooman.

The ooman's gazed mimicked him- moving from the warrior, to his wound and back.

He was tempted to lean against the blade and end his disgrace. He was growing tired of waiting! It was pointless! Dishonorable! Embarrassing!

As if on cue, the ooman loosened her grip on the blade, allowing the lengthy dagger to fall from his neck. For a long moment, she just... stood there; as if deciding whether or not the large alien before her was even worth it.

Suddenly, the ooman took a step loser. Then another. She slowly erased the space between them, stopping only half an inch away from the Yautja's injured leg; the other pulled up to his chest. She knelt to the floor, their gazes at eye-level now. Perhaps the ooman wanted something from him? Like a leach, the ooman reached for the young warrior's wound.

The Yautja turned completely hostile, roaring at the female. He tried to lash out at the smaller creature, but even his wrist-blades weren't long enough to slash through the soft-meat. What an outrage! The ooman didn't even flinch!

Instead, the ooman made a sound with her mouth, turning her head to look behind her shoulder. As if bored, she stood and tread over to his medical kit. The Yautja growled a warning, but the ooman ignored it. Why should he have expected any different. The warrior snarled in disgust when the ooman tapped the small box with the top of her boot. She gave a quick glance back at the Yautja before kicking it further into the dimly-lit corridor. It slid into a crack in the stone wall.

It wasn't even worth chasing now.

The predator rumbled with anger. When the ooman approached again, the unblood didn't even have the chance to process her movement. She was practically on top of him with her bony hand plunged against the warriors bleeding gash. He let out a weak roar, focusing on suppressing the pain instead of the ooman's mask, shoved in his face. He growled when the ooman's eyes gleamed with amusement.

The ooman squeezed his thigh a little tighter, causing him to release another fumbled roar.

He gritted his teeth so that the Pyode Amedha didn't gain the satisfaction of seeing him rile in pain.

"I know you can understand me." The ooman tapped his mask with the edge of her blade.

The young warrior was mentally inept. He couldn't decide what made him more furious: the nerve the ooman had that made him so interested, or the fact that she was right! The Yautja made no attempt to communicate, observing the ooman's bulky form as it swayed, waiting for his answer. She followed his gaze, looking down at her flimsy attire.

"I have a proposition for you." The warrior trilled. He would not cooperate.

He shook his head.

"No?" The ooman swayed her finger. He was perplexed by the sound that she made with her mouth. "You don't even want to hear what I have to say?"

She spoke to him as if she were talking to the lame. Slow and condescending.

He repeated his former gesture.

"Your funeral."

The ooman shrugged and walked away from him. He had expected her to leave him there, but she didn't. He watched as she approached the dead Kainde Amedha he had forgotten about. She plucked her throwing-knife from the creatures skull. He knew it had been her. But why spare him?

He watch as she dragged the insect to the opposite side of the room, dropping the tail of the carcass as she reclined against the the wall. She cut her eyes toward him. What was she doing? The ooman began to cave through the neck, careful not to touch the leaking acid. Taking the skull in her hands, she pealed away the hard-meats smooth, black skin; setting it aside. She favored that piece for some reason while the rest she carelessly scraped away.

He gagged when she pulled the meet from the elongated, hollowed-out skull. She placed the slab next to the shield; the Kainde Amedha's acid-resistant skin. With the skin carefully cut away and the meat and entrails shoveled out of the skull, the warrior watched as she gazed at the pale bone structure. Then, it dawned on him. She was taking it as a trophy. He rumbled a deep growl. That was supposed to be his kill; his rite of passage.

She took notice of this. "Jealous?"

His heated anger returned. It wasn't her tone. No, it was the fact that she was right, again! His pride had been damaged.

"Trophies." Her lips curved up into a grin as she gleamed at her prize. "It helps to ward off bad people. They see what we can do and steer clear of our home. Helps keep the family safe."

She eyed the Kainde Amedha's fleshy meat.

"Eh, it's not so bad if you char-grill it."

He rumbled. The ooman spoke as if he cared to listen. Not that he had a choice in the matter, but...

He was interested with her behavior. It reminded him of him.

"For years, my guardian told me stories about _your kind._" The unblood noted the way she addressed _his kind. _"I should consider you my enemy."

The young warrior cocked his head to the side. He tried to contemplate the meaning of her words. They translated, but he did not understand. The ooman had not, directly, attacked im, but she still placed a challenge; a challenge he was willing to accept if not for his injuries.

Jerking him out of his inner thought, she groaned. "How long will it take for you to bleed out?!"

He growled at her. Like an injured pup, he gently rubbed the gash with his index finger. Looking down revealed to him that he was swimming in a massive pool of his own blood. The chamber was slowly growing darker. He wasn't sure how long he could hold out. The ooman took a deep breath.

For the moment, he was distracted b her; forgetting the pain in his leg, the numbness and the sudden wave of nausea.

"I won't kill anything that is incapable of defending themselves." The ooman smirked at him. He was puzzled. An ooman with honor was unheard of. "So hurry up." He followed her not. She was referring to the puddle of illuminated blood he was sitting in.

The ooman shook her head with a serious expression, confusing him with her dull smile.

"I shouldn't even be here. It's forbidden to even look at anything that has to with your kind... and the aliens." She took a shaky breath. "I suppose it's all they could expect from someone like me. It's in my nature to bend rules and cross lines."

The woman was silent for a moment. She took notice of the lack of trill or chirp from the larger predator. Gazing up from her great trophy, she looked back at him, expecting to meet a pair of wide eyes staring at her like _she _was the alien. She laughed.

He was unconscious.

He hadn't even heard a word she'd said. She decided that it was probably for the best. With a sigh, she stood, arms crossed above her chest and pace slow; deciding what to do with the injured mutt. Leaning by his side, she looked down at him, observing his unmarked mask. The smaller predator removed his helmet, revealing a young face, free of blemishes. Knowing his culture, it wouldn't take two days for that to change. Ghastly scars would enrich his features soon enough.

Finally deciding, she shook her head. From her belt, she removed a small, leather sack. It was her own medical supplies, rationed of course. It would have been more efficient to use his, but the darkness of the crumbling fixture was lacking in comfort, or safety.

"I guess it's your lucky day. I need you alive."


End file.
